


Solas na Fírinne

by LaughableLament



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Campfires, Episode S11e03, Episode Tag, First Time, Kissing, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Outdoor Sex, Season/Series 11 Spoilers, Spoilers, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2015, fairy tale, fic with art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-14 10:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5740333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughableLament/pseuds/LaughableLament
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wandered through an ominous forest, a magical lantern his only guide. Things to do: find his brother, find a way out. (Episode tag for S11e03, “The Bad Seed.” Canon divergent.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solas na Fírinne

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to **[saintsammy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsammy/)** for the gorgeous and inspirational art ([master post here](http://saint-sammy.tumblr.com/post/139189307911/spn-reverse-bang-2015-art-masterpost-title)), and **[crowroad](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crowroad)** for the beta. Much love to you both for sticking with me.

Once, two brothers lived in an underground fortress. There they kept watch over vast collections of lore, cursed and mystical items, and — to Dean Winchester’s unending delight — vintage pornography.

A first edition _Voluptuous Asian Lovelies_ set him questing through the vaults. And during one of those expeditions, Dean first spied the lantern. Buried in dust, but quality work, gleaming glass and polished iron. A yellowed card in a slot read, _The Light of Truth._

The glimmer of a glossy cover caught his eye from the next shelf over. He grumbled when he found it was a _Life._

Years passed.

Dean drove into the night with a witch despoiling his beloved backseat.

“Oh, surely you knew Sam made a deal with me to kill my son,” she said.

Sam averted his eyes.

Dean barked, “Keyword: secrets,” while a part of his mind hatched plots for how to make his brother open up. Somewhere en route back to Kansas, he thought of an antique lantern.

Thick files on The Light of Truth described a “safe and reliable magical lie detector.”

> _The lantern, without oil or candle, burns brighter when it hears a Truth, and dimmer for a Lie. The spell seems to run its course when a secret of sufficiently scandalous nature is revealed._

Well. “Sufficiently scandalous” could mean a lot where Sam and Dean were concerned. So, Dean planned his questions. Practiced his pronunciations. Shadow-blocked Sam’s right jab. Just in case.

Dean found his brother raking leaves away from the Bunker’s entrance. Chill fall wind turned his cheeks pink, ruffled his hair. A silly red scarf dangled under his chin.

Clearing his throat, Dean hoisted the lantern. “Hey-ah, you know anything about this?”

Sam frowned. “Huh-uh. What is it?”

“Some old lantern.” He handed it over. “Check out the inscription. _Suhlus nah feerinyuh_.”

“Huh. The Light of Tr— ” The lantern flared. Sam dropped it and stepped back. “Dammit, Dean!”

Light. Pressure. Both brothers shielded their eyes, as the Kansas field dissolved into dense woods. Dappled light shined down and the lantern burned low at Sam’s feet.

Dean scanned the area: ancient trees, slim trunks and unfamiliar leaves. Low golden light suggested evening. Too-bright colors, greens like cartoon Christmas trees and Sam’s scarf cherry red, which… seemed familiar somehow…

 _Oz,_ he remembered. Charlie had once described it, “Think, exploding Crayola factory.”

They were in a fairy realm.

_We are so screwed._

 

 

Meanwhile, Sam clenched his fists. “Dean, I swear to God I… Dean?”

He blinked. By his feet the lantern glowed. A small circle around it suggested forest, but everywhere else thick mists swirled through an impenetrable gloom.

Sam knelt and inspected the lantern. “Aw, dude. Fai… Really? If we get outta this I’m gonna strangle you.”

The lantern waned and guttered.

Sam complained, “You did this on purpose — ”

The light increased, the circle expanded. Definite forest floor: deadfall, roots.

“ — and you’re an idiot.”

The lantern dimmed.

Sam squinted. “My name is Sam Winchester.”

Flare.

“I have blue hair.”

Dwindle.

“What the fuck,” he muttered.

The flame burned on.

Sam picked up the lantern, considering. “Can you… help me find Dean?”

No change.

“You get brighter if I say true things.”

Stronger.

“Okay, uh, my name is Sam Winchester.”

Stubbornly stable.

“Figures.” Sam looked around, for all the good it did him. “I was born in 1983.”

A handful of trunks took shape.

“I went to Stanford.”

Brighter still, and the mists thinned. Moss clung to the odd trees’ bases, heaviest all on one side. North, Sam declared it, and started walking. Carved his direction into the trunks, prayed Dean was searching for him too.

“Dean is in these woods.”

Brighter.

“You mean to send him back.”

Brighter.

“I’ll stop you.”

No change.

“There’s a way.”

Sam gulped when the light all but vanished, shrunk to a bare pinprick. Then it shuddered and burst forth, more intense than before. Sam smiled. Began rattling off books he’d read and movies he’d seen. Monsters he’d killed. Names of relatives. Schools. With every truth the forest grew more visible, more solid.

After a few hundred paces Sam stopped. “What?” he asked the lantern. “Henry Winchester _was_ my grandfather. That’s true.”

Sam glared as the lantern dimmed.

“What do you want?”

A steady flame.

 _The Light of Truth, the Light of… Dammit._ Sam’s shoulders slumped. “You want secrets.”

Inside the globe the flame flickered and danced.

“Secrets from Dean.” Sam scowled as the lantern laughed. “Okay, uh… When I was fifteen I stole a fifth of Dad’s whiskey and let Dean take the heat.”

The light grew brighter.

 _Great,_ Sam thought. “If it makes him feel any better I was the hero of that party.”

Brighter still.

“I fucked one of Dean’s hookups once when he passed out on her.”

The lantern perked up and Sam’s head snapped around, toward… the first sound he’d heard, actually, aside from the wind in the trees. It troubled him. The forest should have teemed with wildlife: birds and bugs, deer and bear.

He took a breath. “Secrets.” He focused. “When I was soulless I spied on Dean in Lisa’s house.”

The lantern waned. _Right._ Dean would have figured that out when Sam rescued him from the Djinn. _Crap._

“I. I’ve been feeding a cat that hangs out by the Bunker. He’s all black. I named him Poe.”

Sound of a snapping twig and Sam wheeled. Curls of mist persisted, snaked silent across the ground. Sam’s skin crawled. He knew what it was to feel watched. Yellow Eyes. The angels. Lucifer in all his expressions. Stranger-in-the-corner that turned out to be Gadreel.

_I need to raise my game._

“I-uh…” He swallowed. “I got infected. Back at that hospital in Superior.” He kept his eyes on the spot where he’d heard the footstep. Just a flash, and, “Dean?”

Sam heard murmuring. Almost a voice on the wind.

“And, I’m having visions.” Dean — if it was Dean — grew in substance. Fritzed like a ghost.

_sammy_

“I’m sorry, I never looked for you in…” Couldn’t even finish that.

_dontevenfini_

“I like your fucking music.”

Laughter in the trees. Sam faced his brother’s phantom, “Sometimes I-uh…” steeled himself against the hollow eyes, “still wish you’d kiss me.”

The lantern dimmed.

Sam groaned. “What do you want?” He watched Dean’s mouth. A flash of teeth, a flick of tongue. Dean’s lips drew tight.

_psychiccrap_

“It was…” a long, slow breath. “It was the Cage.”

 

 

The lantern went nova.

Woods melted away and left a clearing. Soft grass ringed around with apple trees. A fire crackled at the center of a fairy circle.

“Well ain’t this romantic?” Dean joked.

Sam blinked. “That’s how you want to play this?”

“Honestly I expect you to start throwing punches.”

“Dean.”

“And I’m gonna swing back. Seriously. A cat? You don’t need an entourage of woodland creatures, Snow White. We’ve been over — ”

“As you lock onto the single least relevant…” Sam’s hand flailed. “God! Why would you take a risk like this?”

“What risk?” Dean grabbed for the lantern. “This… piece of junk was just supposed to bust you for keeping secrets.”

Sam pulled it back. “With fairy magic!”

“Not following.” Dean shook his head.

“You’ve got that… mark on your soul?”

“Heh-hehh. Which one?”

“That’s not even a little funny.”

Dean sighed.

“Dude. They took you to Avalon. Fight the fairies, remember?” Sam held up the lantern, dark. “My best guess is whatever powers this thing is hightailing for backup.”

“So we gotta get outta here.” Most people didn’t escape the fairies once.

“Immediately.” Sam knelt beside the circle. “Pretty sure we can use this to cross, if we break what’s holding it closed.”

“So we rub the lamp again?” Dean asked. “Summon the little bastard here, squeeze a name out of it?”

“Sure.” Sam stood, dusted his jeans. “Because they’re always eager to give that up.” Firelight cast him all in orange. Hands stuffed in his pockets, shoulders hunched. His jacket strained across his back. Hair hid his face and his too-red scarf brushed his chest.

“Well, if you’re sittin’ on any other suggestions I’m game.”

“I’ve got…” Sam mumbled, “It’s a longshot.”

“Shoot it, brother.”

Sam kissed him.

Dean froze.

“You gonna kiss back?” Sam asked, right against Dean’s mouth.

“Uh, yeah. Okay. Sure.” Dean’s knees wobbled as Sam’s warm, dry lips pressed against his. He slid his arms around his brother, inside his coat.

 _Kiss._ Crib delicate.

 _Kiss._ Virgin nervous.

 _Kiss._ Honeymoon hungry.

 _Shift._ Sam shouted a laugh and went right back to licking and biting Dean’s mouth.

Dean grunted, “Sammy…” pushed his brother’s shoulders, “Sammy c’mon, man, hey. We’re out.” He had to ignore a few things, like how he was short of breath and violently hard. And how Sam was adjusting himself while pretending to dig for his phone.

“No,” cough, “no battery. Where’d we end up, do you think?”

Dean surveyed their newest surroundings. No more apples, only maples, pines, and oaks. He found the fairy ring, almost totally buried. “No idea.” He couldn’t even make sense of the sun. “Middle of nowhere. No idea how long we’ve been gone, either.”

“You think Cas can get to us, if we prayed to him?”

“Not a clue.” Dean searched for markers to use for direction. “Might be our best shot though.”

By the time they’d said their prayers and gone through their meager supplies, it was clear the angled sun was headed down.

“I don’t wanna camp right next to that circle, dude.”

“Me neither.”

“I say walk, pick up wood, look for softish ground.”

Sam nodded.

 

 

Sam entertained the rare thought that his dad would be proud. They’d pulled off a fairly respectable campsite in the end. Pine straw bedding, little fire. They’d even built a rough lean-to out of branches and a garrote Dean had in his pocket.

Dean sat, stretched out his legs and leaned back on his palms.

Sam settled beside him. Picked at the grass. “I’m still kind of pissed.” He glanced at his brother. Dean stilled, bow-strung. “Even if this hadn’t backfired. Seriously. A truth spell?”

“I know, man. It was sketchy and I shouldn’t have done it.”

Sam breathed. “Dean. You can’t keep pulling this crap. You have to trust me. That, if I think it’ll make any difference, I’ll tell you everything.”

“And how am I supposed to protect you, huh? While you decide what’s relevant for me to know?”

“You don’t. You do the job and you trust me to fend for myself.”

Dean flinched.

“Still… I should’ve told you. About, getting infected.”

Dean gritted his teeth. “Nah. I get it. Job comes first.” He eyed Sam. “Don’t mean I gotta like it. Or the psychic crap either but, we can deal with that. We can figure it out. We.” His eyes glittered in the firelight. He shook his head. Then, a smirk. “You really bang a chick I brought home?”

Sam pointed at the lantern. “The Light of Truth.”

“Tell me.”

“Seriously?”

“Come on.”

Sam thought a minute. “This was, I dunno, ’99? 2000?”

“You were in high school?” Dean’s brows shot for his hairline.

Sam blushed. “Missouri, I think. You remember the White Stallion Inn? With the horse’s head lamps?”

Dean threw back his head. “You found a crack pipe in the spare TP.”

“That’s the one.” Sam nodded. “You’d gone off to hustle pool. Came back, one-thirty, two. So drunk the girl was half holding you up.”

“Mandy…” Dean breathed, wistful.

“Julia.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you hit the bed, all, ‘C’mere, sweetheart,’ and she’s peeling off her jeans when you started snoring.”

“Ouch.”

“Um, yeah.” Sam shot Dean a look. “So I roll over, try to apologize. ‘Sorry, my brother’s an ass.’ Poor girl jumped like a foot in the air. Wasn’t expecting an audience, I guess.” He poked Dean’s shoulder. “You’re an ass, by the way.”

Dean spread his palms. “I was drunk!”

“Yeah you were.” Sam shook his head. “So. She’s standing there, pants around her knees, and she’s all, ‘Well aren’t you a cutie?’ And I…”

“Pinch hit for me.”

“Dude.”

“Tell me you got her off.”

“Five. Times.” Sam eyed his brother, smug.

Dean chuckled. “That’s my boy.”

They stared at the fire a while, leaping tongues and glowing coals. Smoke drifted up, alight with embers. Burning tinder hissed and popped. Sam fiddled with a blade of grass. He’d turn in before long, pressed (strictly for warmth) against the brother he’d just kissed. At least Dean didn’t know —

“Hey, Sam? How’d you get us out?”

“On my life you don’t want me to answer that.”

“C’mon.”

Sam coughed. “Ah… True Love’s Kiss?”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“It’s probably _the_ most powerful charm against fairy magic.”

“And you knew it’d work.”

“I didn’t. I told you. Longshot.”

“Well goddamn.”

They shared a protein bar after that and a few sips of water but didn’t talk much. Third time Dean cracked his back Sam spoke.

“We should bunk down, you think? I’m tired enough to sleep.”

“Yeah, probably.”

It took some arguing:

“No, put _your_ back to the lean-to, human furnace. I’m the little spoon.”

But they curled against each other at last. Sam tried to relax, as he tried not to brush his lips back and forth in Dean’s hair.

 

 

Dean tried not to think about True Love’s Kiss, or the weight of his brother behind him. Out in the open, dying fire and stars overhead, “Did you…” he gambled. “Did you taste me on her?”

Sam tensed.

“’Cause, she, blew me in the car, so...”

“Dean.”

“’S that a yes?”

Sam’s breath washed down his neck. “Yes.”

Dean scooted closer. “You. Like it?”

Sam’s fingers curled against Dean’s chest. “Yes.”

“How come you never said?”

Dean felt Sam shaking his head. “Said what? ‘Hey, big brother, I stole your hookup. Kissed your come out of her mouth. Was hot, too, almost blew a load right there.’” Sam huffed. “You’da kicked the shit outta me.”

Dean faced his brother. “You think so, huh?”

Little muscles in Sam’s cheek ticked. He rolled away, giving Dean a nose full of his hair. It smelled like apples. Dean breathed in.

“Sammy?”

Sam set his shoulders. _Leave this alone_.

“Look at me.” He tugged at his brother.

Slow as Christmas Sam turned back. Eyes closed when Dean brushed the hair from his face.

“I said, look at me.”

Sam looked.

“Back there. You said. You said sometimes.”

“Dean…” Sam faced the sky.

Dean traced a finger along his jaw. Breathed “How ’bout now?” across his mouth.

Sam licked his lips. “Yes.”

Dean cradled Sam’s face and bent to him. Kissed his eyelids. Temples. Points of his cheeks. Sam groaned. Groped with teeth and tongue at Dean’s neck and jaw. Bucked up and Dean hooked a knee across Sam’s crotch. He thrust and swore in three languages. Then, with the quickness that had always caught Dean off guard, he flipped them over. Pinned his brother and snarled into a punishing kiss.

“Sammy?” _Holy shit_. _Geekboy’s an animal._

Sam tore open Dean’s jacket and flannel. Peeled up his Henley and lunged for him, traced his tattoo, teased his nipples. Dean tangled fingers in Sam’s hair and cried out.

Sam paused suddenly, rose to his knees. He creased his brow and opened his mouth —

“Sam, do not ask me to talk about this while I’ve got a clean shot at your testicles.”

Sam blinked. Half a smile crept onto his face. “So. We’re. This is… You’re okay?”

Dean’s affection for his brother’s scarf skyrocketed, when he grabbed it and used it to haul Sam down.

 _Kiss._ “Mouth’s too pretty for all this talkin’.”

 _Kiss._ “You’re disgusting.”

 _Kiss._ “You love it.”

“Yeah.” Then, Sam embarked on giving his brother the blow job of his life.

Dean pushed up to his elbows to watch Sam open his belt and fly. Cold hands spiked a shiver and Sam went down. Long hair tickled his thighs. Slick lips surrounded him and he brushed a thumb across Sam’s cheek. A reflex thrust earned a little grunt that buzzed straight up his spine. Sam bobbed his head. Took Dean to the back of his mouth and up again.

“Fuck, man,” Dean hissed as Sam’s tongue rippled. His thighs shuddered, fingers scrabbled. “Sam… Sammy… Sam…” He seized Sam’s hair, tried to pull him away.

Sam pinned Dean’s hips, ducked down for another taste. His coat and shirts rode up, exposed his back. Dean pushed Sam’s hair aside. Watery eyes flicked up and Dean’s slammed shut. Too much in his brother’s gaze to hold.

 

 

Sam closed the file on The Light of Truth. Cut the lights and sealed the door. Four words of Aramaic and a pinch of powder set it shimmering before it vanished. Everything they’d ever suspected of having a fairy connection lay hidden behind. He noted the spot in a cracked and battered leather journal. Shuffled upstairs.

One last box marked _DEAN / PERSONAL_ perched on the map table. Dean hoisted it as a pretty blonde rushed down from the balcony.

“Dammit, Dad.” She wrestled him for it. “You know you can’t… the doctor said… your heart…”

“You watch your tone with me, miss.” Dean wagged his finger and trailed her toward the door. “I’m already livin’ on a solid thirty years of borrowed time. And if I wanna carry my own skin mags to the car…”

“Dad, ew.”

“They’re vintage! Nothin’ racier than ankles in there.”

“Oh my god.”

Sam grinned and followed. Took his customary shotgun seat.

Later that night, he watched as red coals spread up to light the fresh logs Dean had laid in their fireplace. He accepted the beer his brother offered and tapped a toast when Dean sat down. Dean squirmed, refused to still until they pressed almost ankle to shoulder. Sam chuckled and threw an arm around him.

“Sap.”

“Yup.”

“Turn the goddamn game on.”

Sam complied.

Dean was snoring against his chest by halftime.

**Author's Note:**

> Please [go leave some love for saintsammy](http://saint-sammy.tumblr.com/post/139189307911/spn-reverse-bang-2015-art-masterpost-title)! :D
> 
> Credit: Lines lifted from the episode, written by Brad Buckner & Eugenie Ross-Leming


End file.
